A Twist of Fate
by VoicesOffCamera
Summary: It had been ten months since Steve had been drafted to fight in Vietnam. He was a good soldier and was surprisingly comfortable with being on the battlefield. But when he walked into that prison camp deep in enemy territory he found something he had hadn't been expecting. His best friend. Now his only mission is to try and get Soda home.
1. Wrong Side of Heaven

**Author's Note:** Alright, here we go. This is just a little spin off novella from one of the other stories that I wrote. Right now I'm thinking it will only be three or four chapters. This story stands on its own so don't worry if you haven't read any of the other stories. But if you do enjoy this story then you should check out my other story _Define Your Meaning of War_.

A fair warning, I did up the rating on this story for a reason. Due to the nature of the story there is some foul language I couldn't avoid as tactically as S.E. Hinton did and also there are some parts that get a little graphic. Just know that going in if you're squeamish. Also keep in mind this is a separate story from my other ones on this topic, so tread carefully. The outcome may or may not be a happy one. Even I'm not completely sure yet which way this will go!

Okay, with all that out of the way, let us begin…

* * *

**A Twist of Fate**

_**Chapter One**_

_**Wrong Side of Heaven**_

* * *

_Arms wide open, I stand alone._

_I'm no hero and I'm not made of stone._

_Right or wrong, I can hardly tell._

_I'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell._

_(Wrong Side of Heaven by FFDP) _

Steve Randle was a good solider. When he had been drafted to fight in the Vietnam War in the spring of 1969 he hadn't ever considered being a solider. He was a mechanic. He was a great mechanic and he really thought that's all he'd be good for in his life. So he was surprised when he found that the battlefield seemed to fit him so well. He was oddly at ease with war. The chaos and destructiveness of the battlefield suited him in an unexpected way. He wasn't really sure what that said about him. And he was fairly certain he didn't want to know.

It had been almost ten months since Steve and his best friend from home Sodapop Curtis had been drafted and were forced to leave Tulsa, Oklahoma. However the comfort of being drafted with his best friend hadn't lasted long as they were separated as soon as they arrived at boot camp. Steve hadn't seen or heard from Soda since. After being on the battlefield all these months he was starting to think that was for the best though. Being on his own made him harder and tougher; it made him a good fighter. He had watched men twice his age fall apart in the heat of battle. That was where Steve thrived. He understood violence. He understood doing what you had to in order to survive and save your own skin. That was an advantage of growing up on the rough side of town. He could only hope that Soda had found that drive to survive as well, wherever he was.

This had been a particularly rough week for Steve's unit. They had been ambushed three times and had several casualties, including the solider who worked the radio in order to communicate with base. Without any communication to receive orders or radio for help if they needed it, the captain had decided that they should head back to base.

Everyone was tense as they moved through the jungle, spread out enough to not attract too much attention but still within sight of each other. No one was eager to get caught in yet another ambush and they were still deep in enemy territory. It would take them several days to get back to an ally base so that they could reestablish communications.

A silent signal to halt ran along the line of soldiers. Steve gripped his rifle as he held out an open hand to signal the next person in line to stop. His eyes searched the jungle around him, but he couldn't see any threat. That didn't stop his heart from pounding hard in his chest as his every sense strained to detect anything that might be out there. After a few minutes he drifted up next to one of his comrades that was further up in the line.

"What's goin' on?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes still searching the trees around him for a threat.

"They found somethin' up ahead," the guy answered quietly. "Cap sent a few guys to scout it out."

Steve only nodded. He listened to the quiet, waiting to hear gunfire that would signal them to jump into action. But all he heard was the rustling of the wind through the trees. Several minutes passed before the scouts finally returned, signaling the all clear. The rest of the group started forward. After a minute they came out into a clearing.

"What am I lookin' at?" Steve asked curiously as he looked around the area. At a glance it looked like a small village made of bamboo.

"It's a prison camp." The captain – Captain Miller – had come up behind him, surveying the area in front of them grimly. "Looks like it was abandoned recently, there's no guards anywhere." He glanced at the soldiers around him. "Search for survivors."

Steve took another look at the area in front of him, really taking it in this time. The clearing had a bamboo fence that ran around it and inside the fence were small cages. There were people in some of the cages. Steve felt his stomach turn at this realization. But despite this the area was eerily quiet. What kind of sick place was this?

Steve followed everyone else into the camp. He felt disgusted as he moved between the cages. He had never really believed in this war when he was drafted. But after seeing the cruelty of the North Vietnamese soldiers he had a sudden feeling of righteousness that they were over here fighting against them. At this moment in time to Steve it seemed that they were doing the right thing.

He looked down around him as he walked between bamboo cages. The cages weren't even big enough for the prisoners to sit up in. All the prisoners were dirty and clearly malnourished. Most of them seemed to be unnaturally still and quiet. He shuddered as he realized one particular prisoner that he had been looking at was a corpse. He had the sudden unnerving sense that he was walking through a gruesome cemetery that left its occupants out on display rather than burying them in the ground.

Other men in his unit were checking over the men in the cages, calling out names they read off of dog tags to be recorded along with condition. They were all Vietnamese names, most likely South Vietnamese soldiers. So far all of the conditions were deceased. It didn't look like they were going to find any survivors. Steve paused and closed his eyes trying to forget where he was just for a minute. But he couldn't. The smell was awful.

"Curtis, Sodapop P.," someone called out.

Steve's eyes flew open and his whole body went cold. "What?" The word came out choked, unheard by anyone but himself. He looked around wildly for who had spoken, but there were too many people moving around him and suddenly he felt so dizzy he couldn't focus on anyone. "Who's got Curtis?" he called out to no one in particular.

"Over here!" Steve spotted one of the soldiers from his unit waving at him. He recognized him as a guy named Turner. Steve sprinted over to him, his heart pounding. It couldn't be. It was nearly impossible to mistake that name, but Steve still couldn't believe it. Sodapop couldn't be here. He just couldn't.

Steve reached the cage that Turner was kneeling next to. The solider inside was wearing a tattered military uniform. Mud caked his clothing and his skin and he looked like no more than skin and bone. For a moment he was deathly still. Then he turned his head very slowly and looked up at Steve with bleary eyes. There was a large gash on his forehead just above his eyebrow and there was blood staining one side of his face and matting into his hair, which had grown out from the military crew cut. If Steve hadn't been looking closely, he wouldn't have recognized him.

"Steve?" Sodapop wheezed weakly, looking confused.

"Soda," Steve gasped, too shocked to say anything else. For a minute all Steve could do was stare, frozen in place. Then he saw Soda's eyes start to roll as his head fell to one side. This was enough to get Steve to spring into action. He reached forward and started desperately trying to pull apart the ties that held the bamboo cage together. "Hang on, Soda. Hang on, we're gonna get you outta there."

With Turner's help they were able to pull the top off of the cage. Steve wanted to immediately yank Soda out of this inhuman contraption, but his legs were still confined by a wooden structure at the end of the cage. As Turner went about trying to free him from this, Steve leaned over his friend. Gently he tapped Soda's cheek, trying to get him to come back around. "Soda? Soda can you hear me?" Soda let out a low moan as his head shifted and his eyes fluttered slightly. Steve felt relief wash over him. "It's okay, buddy, you're gonna be okay."

"You know him, Randle?" Turner asked as he finally managed to get the restraints off of Soda's legs.

Steve nodded solemnly, unable to take his eyes off of Soda. "Yeah. He's my best friend from home. He's practically family."

"Wow," Turner said, real awe in his voice. "What are the fuckin' odds of that?"

"Yeah, I know," Steve said flatly. Soda coughed weakly and Steve was horrified to see a line of blood suddenly trickle from the corner of his mouth. He felt his heart fall. "Medic!" he called over his shoulder. "I need a medic over here!"

A minute later Wade, their unit's medic, was hurrying over to them looking frazzled. It had to be stressful to be the only medic in a camp full of dying or dead soldiers.

"What do we got?" Wade asked breathless as he fell to his knees beside them and started to look Soda over.

"He's really outta it," Steve said quickly, trying to control his panic. "And he's coughin' up blood."

Wade quickly began checking Soda over, first checking his pulse while Soda barely reacted before looking over the rest of him. He reached down and pulled aside the torn jacket that hung around him and Steve gave a start at what he revealed. The shirt underneath was stained with blood. A lot of blood. It was still wet, so clearly it was fresh. Wade pulled up the shirt to reveal what was unmistakably a bullet wound in Soda's side. Steve gasped.

"I'm sorry, Randle," Wade said. "There ain't much I can do about that." Suddenly someone else called out to Wade and he disappeared.

Steve could only stare down at Soda in shock.

"Sorry, Randle," Turner said sympathetically. "That's rough."

"No," Steve said quietly. Soda coughed weakly again, more blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. Then Steve looked up, his eyes searching desperately for where the medic disappeared to. "Wade! Wade, get your ass back here!" When he didn't immediately return, Steve turned to Turner. "Stay with him. Please. I'll be right back." Waiting only a moment to register Turner's confirming nod Steve jumped to his feet and started hurrying around the camp, looking for Wade. He found him a minute later leaning over another soldier in a cage. "Wade!"

"I'm a little busy here, Randle," Wade murmured. He paused for a minute as he took the soldiers pulse. Then he sighed. "He's gone."

"Hey, my buddy over there is still _alive_," Steve raged. "So you get your ass back there and help him!"

"Randle, I'm just tryin' to find someone that I actually can help," Wade shot back.

In a burst of rage Steve reached down and roughly yanked Wade to his feet and shook him. "To hell with you, you son of a bitch!" he shouted in his face.

"Hey! What's goin' on here?" Suddenly Steve was being pulled away from Wade. He whipped around; ready to deck the guy who was pulling him away, but luckily stopped himself in time. Captain Miller was towering over him. "Randle, what's gotten into you?"

"That's my friend!" Steve yelled as he pointed back to where Soda lay. "That's my friend over there and Wade won't even _try_ to fuckin' help him! That's his damn job, to help wounded soldiers!"

Captain Miller looked over at Wade for an explanation. "His friend's got a gunshot wound to the gut. There ain't much I can do about that. I was tryin' to find someone I might be able to actually help."

"Randle, we're all at our wit's end here," Captain Miller said turning back to Steve, looking tired. "There's only so much we can do. We can't radio a chopper to get any of these men out of here, we have to deal with this the best we can." He turned back to the medic. "Wade, you tell Randle what he can do for his friend and then go finish makin' the rounds. Then go back and see if there's anythin' at all that you can do for him."

Wade nodded, looking tensed. "Randle, see if you can get your friend to drink any water and put pressure on the bullet wound. Don't move him. I'll be back over as soon as I can."

Steve wanted to argue more, but decided against it. He wanted to be back at Soda's side as soon as he could. He turned and hurried back to where Turner was still crouched.

"How's he doin'?" Steve asked quickly.

"He's really outta it," Turner said grimly. "Randle… I don't think he's gonna make it."

"Shut your trap," Steve growled dangerously. He pulled his canteen off. "Help me. Lift his head." Turner did as he was told, carefully tilting Soda's head up so that Steve could tip water into his mouth. Soda coughed and sputtered. "It's okay, Soda," Steve said gently. "C'mon, drink up."

Soda gulped. "Steve." His voice came out hoarse and as little more than a whisper.

"Yeah, I'm right here," Steve assured him gently.

"How?" Soda rasped.

Steve snorted and gave him a half smile. "I know, crazy coincidence, right?" Soda took in a shuddering breath, wincing as he did so. "Just try and lay still, okay?" He glanced over at Turner. "We gotta put pressure on the bullet wound."

"Yeah, okay," Turner said. He reached over and bunched up the jacket Soda was wearing over the wound and leaned on it slightly. Soda immediately yelped and tensed up, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain.

"Hang in there, Soda," Steve pleaded.

Steve continued to speak to Soda, trying to comfort him even though he seemed to be fading in and out of consciousness. Finally Wade returned, quickly pushing Turner aside so that he could get another look at Soda's wound. Steve carefully watched him, feeling tense. He jumped when he suddenly heard a voice behind him, not realizing the captain had come up to watch.

"How does he look, Wade?" Captain Miller asked.

"The wound looks fresh, probably only an hour or two old at most which is why he's still hangin' on," Wade said as he continued to check Soda over. He put a hand to his forehead, careful to avoid the gash on his head. "He's probably got a concussion from that trauma. He's also got a good fever, indicating infection. The blood he's coughin' up isn't from the bullet wound; it's too low to have hit his lungs. Most likely it's from sickness, pneumonia or somethin'. Maybe even dysentery, some of the other prisoners seemed to have died from that. Clearly he's dehydrated and malnourished, so he doesn't have much chance of fightin' it off for long." He lifted Soda slightly to check his back. "I don't see an exit wound. Means the bullet's still in there."

"What are his chances?" Captain Miller asked evenly.

Wade shook his head and sighed. "Not good. He needs immediate medical care, more than what I can do for him out here."

"So we'll take him back with us," Steve said as if the fact were obvious.

"We've got at least a two day march back to base, Randle," Captain Miller pointed out.

"And any movement is gonna cause that bullet in his belly to start migratin' and tearin' up other organs," Wade added. "Probably cause him to start bleedin' out too. The minute you move him the timer starts and he ain't gonna last one day, let alone the two he would need."

Steve went cold, almost forgetting to breath. "I… I can't just leave him here," he stuttered, looking back and forth between Wade and Captain Miller in disbelief. "He's got two brothers back home who are countin' on him to make it back. I won't leave him here, not while he's still alive."

Captain Miller sighed, looking worn. He looked at Wade. "Is there _anything_ that you can do to improve his chances?"

Wade considered this for a moment. "I can dig out the bullet, cut away the dead flesh and bandage him up," he finally said. "That should at least buy him some time."

"Well then, do it," Steve said immediately.

Wade started going through the medical supplies in his pack. "I don't got much morphine left though." He looked at Steve expectantly, clearly looking for some kind of direction with this new development.

At this, Steve hesitated. He looked down at Soda. Was this really his decision to make? He leaned down closer to Soda, placing a hand on his shoulder, shaking it slightly as he tried to get Soda's attention. "Soda? Soda can you hear me?" Soda's eyes wandered in Steve's direction, which Steve took to be a good sign. "Listen, buddy, you got a bullet in your gut. The doc's gotta dig it out before we can move you." Soda stared at Steve vacantly. Steve wasn't even sure if he really comprehended what he was saying, but he continued anyway. "He's outta morphine… so it's gonna hurt. But it's the only way to get you back home to Pony and Darry. Okay?"

Steve could just glimpse a spark behind Soda's eyes as he mentioned his brothers' names. Then, very slowly he moved his head down slightly and then back up in a nodding gesture. It was weak, and it was possible Steve only imagined it, but it would have to do. Steve looked back up at Wade. "Do it. Do whatever you have to so that I can move him." He didn't care if he had to carry Soda all the way back to base on his back, he was going to get Soda to safety if it was the last thing he ever did.

"Alright," Wade said determinedly as he began digging through his pack again. "Take apart the sides of the cage."

Steve immediately jumped into action, yanking the ties that held the sides of the bamboo cage upright as Turner went to the other side and started doing the same thing. Soon enough they had the entire thing disassembled.

"Move him over here," Wade instructed as he laid out a blanket next to where Soda lay. "Be very, very careful."

Steve scrambled up to crouch by Soda's head while Turner moved to his feet. Steve positioned his hands under Soda's shoulders and then moved his eyes to meet Turner's gaze. "Ready?" Turner asked. Steve nodded tersely. "One… two… three." On the count they both lifted Soda up just enough so that they could shift Soda over to the blanket. Just this small motion caused Soda to moan with pain. Steve felt his stomach twist. That did not bode well. This was not going to be pretty.

"Okay, you gotta hold him very, _very_ still," Wade said seriously as he pulled up Soda's shirt. "If he moves at all this could turn really bad really fast and there won't be anything I can do about it. Get it?"

"Got it," Steve said firmly, though he was feeling less and less sure about this course of action. What if he made the wrong decision? What if he was about to put Soda through unimaginable pain for no reason? But he just had to do something. He couldn't just sit by and watch Soda die. Turner moved to hold Soda's legs down while Steve moved to hold his arms.

"Here," Wade said, holding out a wad of gauze to Steve. "Put this in his mouth to keep him from bitin' his tongue off when he's screamin'."

Steve did as he was told with a steely resolve. There was no time for second-guessing. This had to be done. "Open up Soda," Steve said as he pinched Soda's mouth open and placed the gauze between his teeth. Then he leaned over and placed his forearms over Soda's upper body to hold him down in case he started struggling.

"Ready?" Wade asked.

Steve glanced over at him. He was poised, ready to start digging around Soda's bullet wound with a long metal instrument. Steve felt his stomach turn.

"Ready," Steve said as firmly as he could.

"Ready," Turner agreed.

Steve turned back to Soda, not wanting to watch what was about to happen. "Just hang on, okay Soda?" he said quietly. "It'll be over in a minute."

For a minute it looked like Soda wasn't going to react at all. Then all of a sudden all his muscles tensed up and the let out a raw scream of agony that was muffled only slightly by the gauze in his mouth. Steve felt him strain up against him and he leaned on him heavily in order to hold him down.

"Soda!" Steve practically had to yell to be heard over the sounds of Soda's screams. "Soda, look at me!" When he got no coherent response he reached over with one hand while keep his other arm planted firmly across Soda's chest and grabbed Soda's chin, forcing him to look up at him. "Soda, it's gonna be okay. Just breathe. I know it hurts but we gotta get that bullet outta you. Okay?" Soda made some sort of mumbled noise like he was trying to speak, but Steve didn't dare take the gauze out of his mouth. Soda's features were contracting in immense pain and every few seconds he'd let out a yelp or a cry.

"Almost got it," Wade spoke up after several minutes of this painful display.

Steve glanced back at Wade as he spoke and then immediately wished he hadn't. The sight of Wade trying to fish a bullet out of Soda's gut was beyond gruesome. Blood pooled and spilled out of the wound, running down Soda's side. Steve forcefully swallowed back the bile that was making its way up his throat as he quickly turned away again. He focused back on Soda. His face was covered in sweat and he was gasping for breath, his eyes clouded over with pain. His cries grew weaker as all the energy seemed to drain out of him.

"He's almost got it, Soda," Steve said softly. He could hear the way his voice shook. "Just hang in there another minute." Soda's eyes shifted to look at him. The depth of the pain in his eyes was beyond disturbing. "It's almost over. Then I'm gonna get you back home to Darry and Pony. You're gonna be okay, I swear."

"Got it!"

At the same time that Wade made his announcement Soda tensed up and cried out horribly again. Despite his weakened state Steve still had to use all his strength to hold him down. It was amazing what the human body could do when it was in excruciating pain. A moment later he relaxed and Steve let out a sigh of relief as he sat up. He closed his eyes, willing himself to not get sick.

"How's he lookin', Wade?" came the captain's voice.

Steve opened his eyes and looked down at Soda. He was pale as a sheet and gasping for breath but he was still conscious, if only barely. Then he looked down at his own hands. They were shaking.

Wade sighed tiredly. "Well, he's alive," he said flatly. He looked up at Captain Miller, his features serious. He spoke with a grim resignation "Honestly, he's not gonna last a two days march back to base though. It's some kind of miracle that his organs are still working but there's a lot of damage. He'll likely bleed out or be taken by infection in a matter of hours."

Steve reached down and placed a hand on Soda's shoulder protectively. "I ain't leavin' him here." There wasn't much force behind his voice, he suddenly felt exhausted. But there was no question in his tone. He refused to abandon Soda out here in the jungles on Vietnam. One way or another, Soda was going home. He was going to make damn sure of it.

"Patch 'em up as best you can," Captain Miller told Wade. He looked over at Steve. "You're gonna need someone to help you carry him. We're still in enemy territory; I won't have both your hands occupied. You need to have one free for your gun."

"I'll do it," Turner volunteered almost immediately.

Steve gave a start at this. He wasn't particularly close with Turner, or anyone else in their unit for that matter. He pretty much kept to himself. He would never be able to put into words how thankful he was for this though.

Captain Miller nodded, looking satisfied. "Alright. As soon as Wade finishes up we are movin' out. We're losin' daylight."

Steve nodded as the captain turned and walked away, gathering the rest of the unit together. Wade went right to work piling bandages onto Soda's wound. Soda moaned weakly. Steve turned back to him, pulling the gauze from his mouth and casting it aside. Soda was gasping for breath and his eyes rolled in his head, not focusing on anything. Steve swallowed. It wasn't looking good. But he'd be damned if he was going to abandon his best friend out here.

"We need to lift him so I can wrap the bandages," Wade said, bringing Steve back to the present.

Steve took a deep breath in a small attempt to steady his nerves. It didn't help though. He felt completely overwhelmed and helpless in this situation. He wanted to scream and yell and punch somebody. But he couldn't do any of that. He could only grit his teeth and endure. Carefully Steve and Turner worked together to lift Soda's midsection so that Wade could wind the bandages tightly around him. Soda gasped and cried out again at the movement. Steve clenched his jaw. He felt like he couldn't comfort Soda. There was nothing he could say to take this pain away.

Once Wade had finally finished, Steve and Turned placed Soda back down and then went to gather their gear, getting ready to head out. As Steve went back to where Soda lay he paused, looking down at him. His head had fallen to one side and his eyes were closed as he lay perfectly still.

Steve swallowed nervously as his body went cold at the sight. He was too still and too pale. "Soda?" There was no response. Steve dropped to his knees and shook Soda's shoulder. "Soda!" His voice was louder and more frantic. To his relief Soda moaned lightly and his head shifted. Steve sighed. "Just hang in there Soda. We're gettin' you outta here."

At this Soda's eyes fluttered weakly. Steve wasn't sure why, but his eyes looked more aware than they had earlier. His gaze searched the area around him before finally coming to a rest on Steve himself. He roughly inhaled, making a bit of a wheezing sound when he did so. "Hey." His voice came out small and hoarse.

A burst of laughter escaped from Steve, though oddly there was no humor in the sound. "Hey, buddy. How's it goin'?"

Soda winced as he took in a ragged breath. "Hurts a bit."

"Yeah, well, that's a little more than a mosquito bite you got yourself there," Steve said, straining to keep his tone light. The last thing he needed to do was cause Soda to start panicking. He needed to stay calm even though he felt anything but.

"Randle." Steve turned to see the captain making his way over to them. "You guys about ready to go? I'm getting antsy hanging around here."

"Yes sir, we are," Steve said, pulling his pack more securely onto his back. He was anxious to get Soda as far away from this horrible place as possible.

"Well good," Captain Miller said with satisfaction. "Let's get going."

It took all three of them – Steve along with Wade and Turner – to get Soda onto his feet. He groaned and cried out, though it seemed that he had lost any energy to have more of a reaction. Steve ducked under one of Soda's arms while Turner ducked under the other, supporting him. Soda fell limp between them. For a moment Steve thought he had passed out again. But then he felt Soda's hand gripping the back of his jacket like a lifeline. As much as Soda was probably trying to comfort himself by clinging to his best friend Steve felt comforted by it as well. Soda was a fighter. He wasn't going down without a damn good fight.

Steve took a deep breath. With one last look around the inhuman camp that Soda had been held in, he turned and working with Turner they began carrying Soda out into the jungle along with the rest of the unit. After a quick survey of the group that was leaving Steve suddenly realized that Soda was the only surviving prisoner from this camp. This realization hit him hard. He looked over at Soda who was barely conscious. Was this war really worth it? Was it really worth getting involved in a conflict on the other side of the world considering the lives that were being lost?

If Sodapop died and never made it home to his brothers would it really be worth it?

"You're makin' it through this, buddy," Steve murmured determinedly under his breath, unwilling and unable to believe anything else despite the horrific circumstances. "You're goin' to survive. I promise."


	2. Best Friends and Hospital Beds

**Chapter Two**

**Best Friends and Hospital Beds**

* * *

_Words mean nothing but empty providence,  
All for a God that doesn't seem to care  
Who lives and who dies, these are no choices.  
Each like a body broken struck from the face of a man._

_How many friends can I loose before it all makes sense?_  
_How many friends can I loose?_

_Who knows what to say?_  
_When I'm speaking out to a quiet crowd_  
_And at the back of the hall the eyes are silent_

_(Best Friends and Hospital Beds by Funeral for a Friend)_

* * *

Steve's feet hurt. The rest of him hurt too but upon further assessment he had decided that his feet hurt the worst. They were throbbing in his boots with every step he took. His platoon had covered a lot of ground over the course of the past week. Normally he would try and distract himself from this pain, but today he focused on it. It was a welcome distraction. Because if he didn't have something to focus on then he would focus on his best friend that he was currently dragging through the jungles of Vietnam.

Soda had been slipping in and out of consciousness over the past couple hours since they found him in that prison camp. His fever had been worsening. They had discarded his jacket and then later his shirt in a small attempt to keep his temperature in check, but there was still sweat covering his body. When he would cough blood would roll down his chin and drip to the ground. His muscles were weakening and he no longer clutched to Steve even when he did regain conscious. Overall it wasn't looking good.

Darkness had fallen. When the sun set in the jungles of Vietnam the darkness was complete. The moon was only half full and kept on disappearing behind some clouds and provided little light to them. They were very dependent on flashlights to be able to pick their way through the jungle. Neither Steve nor Turner could hold their flashlight though since they had one hand on their rifles and the other supporting Soda, which was quickly becoming problematic. The awkward group started to trip over hidden roots and rocks and every time Soda would gasp and moan and pain as he was jerked around. Steve clenched his jaw, wondering grimly if at this point they were doing more harm than good. But what else could they do? So they just kept going.

Finally the group came out into a small clearing and slowed. Steve glanced around, knowing exactly what was happening even before the captain spoke up.

"We're campin' here for the night," Captain Miller announced. There was a sigh of relief that ran around the men in the unit. Everyone was exhausted. Even Steve felt relieved. As much as he knew full well that time was their enemy right now with Soda's condition they couldn't just stumble around in the dark all night. The captain immediately started assigning tasks, sending some men out into the surrounding trees to make sure they really were alone – a task they all took very seriously after several nighttime ambushes by the enemy – while having others set up camp and start on a fire.

Wade appeared near Steve very suddenly. He had hovered around them through most of the journey, checking Soda every now and again as they moved, though he never had good news. After several reports of "he's getting worse" Steve had snapped at him, not too kindly, to stop announcing that because it wasn't helping matters. From then on Wade had been silent when he checked Soda.

"Here, bring him closer to the middle, just in case," Wade advised as he sent an uneasy look at the dark trees around them. They had all learned to be suspicious of what the trees around them might be hiding.

Steven and Turner moved toward the middle of the clearing, pulling Soda with them. They stopped a little ways from where the others were building the fire. Wade laid out a blanket and as carefully as they could they laid Soda on it. Soda gasped and groaned with pain as they lowered him down, making Steve's heart twist. All he wanted to do was take away Soda's pain. But there was nothing they could do for him. And that was maybe the most painful thing that Steve would ever endure. Maybe.

"Easy, Soda," Steve said, kneeling down next to his friend. He pulled Soda's jacket out of his pack and bunched it up under Soda's head, trying to make him a little more comfortable. "We're stoppin' for the night. Just try and get some rest. Okay?"

Soda's eyes moved up toward him and then seemed to slip right passed him, clouded over with fever. Steve sighed heavily as he rubbed his forehead where a headache had been pounding for a few hours now. Wade crouched down on Soda's other side as he went about checking his vitals again. Steve turned away slightly. He didn't want to see the grim look on the medic's face as he found no improvement.

"Randle?" Wade said suddenly.

"What?" Steve said sharply, still not looking at him. He swore to himself that if Wade was about to give him more bad news about Soda's condition he was going to belt him.

"I'm sorry about what I said back at the camp," Wade said slowly. This was enough for Steve to send him a confused look. It wasn't at all what he was expecting to hear. Wade looked at him a bit nervously. He was a small guy with glasses, probably around Steve's age. He certainly was not old enough to be an accomplished doctor or anything like that. Steve suddenly wondered vaguely how much medical training he actually had. "It wasn't that I didn't _want_ to help him. It's just…" His thought trailed off and he sighed heavily before he continued. "They didn't tell us it was gonna be like this. Most of the time on the battlefield there just isn't anythin' you can do except watch people die while tryin' to make their passing hurt just a little less. You know how many people I've actually saved since getting here? Zero. It's a very easy statistic to remember."

Steve could only stare blankly, not sure what to make of this. It wasn't at all the kind of conversation he ever thought he'd be having with Wade.

Wade shifted uncomfortably under Steve's gaze. "I just want you to know that I want him to get through this too. I don't want you to think that I don't."

Steve nodded finally. "Thank you," he said. He looked down at Soda. His eyes were closed and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. "You bought him some time," he pointed out after a minute. "That's gotta count for somethin'." Steve swallowed. Every fiber of his being screamed at him not to ask the next question on his mind, but he did anyway. "He could… he could make it… couldn't he?" His voice came out quiet and almost childlike.

Wade looked at him as if sizing him up for a minute. Steve felt his stomach falling before he even started speaking. "Randle, I'm gonna give you some advice," he said slowly almost gently. "You're not gonna like it… but just hear me out. What you got here… maybe it's a different kind of gift. Not many people get an opportunity like this especially out here. You have a chance to really say goodbye to your friend. You might not want to waste that. Just in case."

Steve closed his eyes as if he were in physical pain. He rested his head in his hands, feeling the exhaustion brought on by the past couple hours finally catching up with him.

"Hey man." Steve opened his eyes to find that Wade had left and now it was Turner that was crouched near him. He was holding a can out toward him. "You need to eat something. Keep your strength up."

Steve had absolutely no appetite whatsoever but he knew that Turner was right. He reached out an accepted his C ration. Normally they would use their C4 explosives to heat their rations since you could light them without them exploding, but they couldn't do that at night. It would attract too much attention. Even the fire that they built was kept low and surrounded by the soldiers' pack to keep it from being able to be seen from a distance. This meant that they would be eating their rations cold. Usually Steve would be bitching along with everyone else about this. But tonight he could barely even taste what he was eating let alone care whether it was hot or cold.

"You holding up okay?" Turner asked after they ate in silence for a few minutes.

Steve stared vacantly down at his can of C rations. "Wade doesn't think he's gonna make it," he mumbled. "He's thought that since the beginning."

"Yeah, I heard you guys talking just now," Turner admitted.

Steve let his eyes stray to Soda who lay unconscious next to him. He was still taking in ragged breaths, the only obvious sign that he was still alive. "What if I'm putting him through all this for nothin'?" he murmured. "What's the point of puttin' him through all this pain and draggin' him all the way back to base if he's not even gonna make it?"

"It's not for nothing," Turner said slowly. "He's still alive right now, which means he's still got a chance. Even if it is unlikely it's still there because of what we did back there. I mean, what were we supposed to do? Just leave him there to slowly bleed out? Put a bullet in his head to put him out of his misery? We don't do that to our own." He paused for a moment. "You know, he was awake when I first found him. He knew we were there. He was calling out for help, though not very loudly. He was even reaching up toward the bars of the cage like he could break out. He passed out again before you got there, but he clearly wanted out of there. You gave him that in any case. I think you did the right thing. He shouldn't have been left behind in that heinous place."

"Thanks man," Steve said. And he did mean that. He had provided a little comfort anyway.

They lapsed into silence and Steve figured the conversation was over. So when Turner did speak again Steve jerked slightly in surprise. "Hope for the best but prepare for the worst," he said quietly. He looked up as Steve sent him a questioning look. Turner flashed him a half smirk. "That's something my dad used to always tell me. I used to just roll my eyes at him. But… I don't think Wade was telling you to give up hope. Just to prepare for the worst." He fidgeted uncomfortably at Steve's silence. "If that makes sense."

Steve nodded vaguely as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. It did make sense. But he knew that no one really understood what was going on here. Soda was more than just a friend from back home, he was Steve's family. How were you supposed to say goodbye to someone like that? Steve looked over at Soda again and tried to imagine going home without him. He couldn't do it. Soda had always been there. A world without Sodapop Curtis seemed too horrific to even imagine.

The night dragged on and as more clouds began to roll in to block out any light from the moon or stars the darkness became more complete. The group quickly fell into their usual nighttime routine. Out of the eighteen that were with them when they left base camp, there were twelve abled bodied soldiers left. After several enemy night raids they had developed a set of flashlight signals in order to silently communicate in the dark. Four soldiers would patrol the perimeter of their camp out in the trees at the four cardinal directions and would send periodic signals back toward the camp to let them know they had not been taken out by any enemy soldiers lurking out in the darkness, a flaw in their previous routine that they had learned the hard way. Two soldiers sat in the camp as secondary lookouts and kept track of the signals of the four beyond the tree line. This left six soldiers to get some rest. They had a quick rotation of switching posts every fifteen minutes, meaning that for every hour and a half you were on duty you got an hour and a half of rest.

Given all of this it was several hours before Steve realized that he had been left out of the rotation that night. He assumed that the Captain had decided that he wasn't in any state to be keeping watch, and Steve was grateful for this because it was very true. He had absolutely no desire to leave Soda's side for any reason. And despite the fact that he was horribly tired he had no desire to go to sleep. Instead he sat up at Soda's side, watching over him like a silent protector. He had found a relatively clean shirt in his pack and had torn it to shreds, using some of his rationed water to wet them and place them on Soda's forehead in a small attempt to control his fever. It didn't seem to be helping much.

Despite his determination to stay awake, Steve was pretty sure he nodded off a few times while sitting up out of sheer exhaustion. So he had no concept of how much time had passed when he opened his eyes and glanced down at Soda to find that he was looking up at him.

"Soda?" Steve said in a low voice. His tone was guarded, well aware that Soda hadn't acknowledged his presence since they left the prison camp.

Soda's eyes slid shut and Steve sighed in disappointment. But then a moment later they opened again and Soda took in a slow, rattling breath as he looked up at Steve. At first he just looked confused, his eyes hazy with fever. At that moment the clouds shifted, shedding a bit more light ino their clearing from the moon. Steve could just see the spark of recognition in Soda's eyes. "Steve?" His voice was weak and raw.

Steve smiled lightly, feeling relief wash over him. "Hey buddy," he said quietly. "How're you feelin'?"

Soda moaned lightly and his eyes fluttered with the pain of just breathing. "Awful." He gaze wandered slightly. "Where are we?" With each word Steve could see what little energy he had fading.

Steve gave a shrug. "Somewhere in the middle of a jungle in Vietnam." He tried to sound casual, but there was tense concern in his voice. He put a light hand on Soda's shoulder to keep him still as he shifted uncomfortably. "Just take it easy, okay? We got a long day of walkin' back to base tomorrow."

Soda let out a choked noise. Steve vaguely wondered if this was his attempt at a laugh. "I don't think…" He tensed and winced. "…I'll be doin' much walkin'." He coughed raggedly. It was clear that he was in an unimaginable amount of pain.

"Don't you worry about that," Steve assured him gently. "I've got your back, buddy. Just like always."

But Soda didn't look comforted by his words. He sucked in a shallow breath, wincing as he did so. "If I don't make it back—"

"No," Steve cut him off quickly. "No, don't talk like that Soda. You're gonna be fine. You _have_ to be fine. I can't go back without you, man."

Soda shot him a pained look at this. "You have to go back, Steve. You have to—" His words were choked off suddenly as a strange and unnatural tremor ran through his body causing him to moan with pain.

"Hey, stop talkin'," Steve said worriedly. "You gotta save your strength."

Soda shook his head slightly and looked up at him blearily. "You gotta go back to Darry and Pony," he rasped weakly. "And Two-Bit. You gotta tell them… I never wanted to leave them. I tried so hard to get back to them…"

Steve took in a shaky breath. He could feel tears building up and he fiercely fought back against them. He did not want to lose his composure here of all places. This was not a conversation he wanted to have. However Steve could not deny him this conversation if this was what Soda needed for comfort. It didn't mean that he had to stop fighting to bring Soda home, he told himself.

"Okay," Steve choked out, fighting for composure. "Okay, I'll tell them. Don't you worry."

Soda blinked slowly and then reached out toward Steve. Steve took his hand and squeezed it lightly. "You need to go home," Soda mumbled.

"You need to go home too, Soda," Steve said, a hint of pleading in his voice. It wasn't fair. What did Steve have to go home to? He didn't have any decent family to go back to. Soda had a family to go back to; he still had his brothers who would be absolutely crushed if he didn't come home. "Don't give up, you can make it through this I know you can."

Soda opened his mouth to respond but only an odd choked noise came out. Steve stared in confusion as Soda's muscles suddenly tensed. His eyes rolled back in his head and Steve thought that he was passing out again. It seemed really strange though because he had seemed so coherent just a second ago. Then suddenly Soda's hand tightened around Steve's in a vice grip. His muscles tensed even more, so much so that his shoulders were lifted off the ground as his head tilted backwards in an unnatural position. Steve could only stare, uncomprehending. Soda's body gave an unnatural jerk and then a few seconds again another one and then another.

As the episode worsened Steve quickly looked around, trying to locate the medic. "Wade!" he hissed, knowing full well that yelling, even given the situation with his friend, would not help matters here in the middle of enemy territory.

Luckily not only was Wade not out on lookout duty but he seemed to be keeping tabs on Soda and Steve, because just a moment later he materialized at Soda's side and immediately began examining Soda as the spasms and convulsions worsened.

"What's happening?" Steve murmured frantically, trying desperately to keep calm.

Wade glanced over at him. "He's having a seizure," he said flatly.

"What can you do?" Steve asked quickly as he watched the painful display. He felt like he could hardly breath. This couldn't be it this couldn't be the end, it just couldn't.

Wade sent him a tense look before he turned and started rummaging in his pack. He came up with a roll of bandages that was looking pretty thin. He tore off a strip and quickly put it into Soda's mouth between his teeth, much like that had done when he had been extracting the bullet from his gut.

"You're supposed to put him on his side," Wade mumbled, still looking down at Soda worriedly as his muscles continued to spasm more violently. "But if we do that we risk causing more damage to the bullet wound."

Steve felt like the world was falling out from under him. He stared on helplessly as the seizure continued. His mind was a whirl of too many thoughts but feeling empty at the same time. Then he did something he had never done before in his entire life. He closed his eyes and he began to pray to anyone who may be listening.

_Please… not like this… don't let Soda go out like this…it's not fair he needs to go home his family needs him… please… we need a miracle…_

"Randle?"

It was Wade's voice. It had gotten very quiet very quickly. Soda's hand had gone slack. Steve's took a deep breath. Was that it? Was it over? He tried to prepare himself, to somehow brace himself for a world without Sodapop Curtis. But it was like trying to stop a tornado through sheer force of will. Completely impossible. Slowly Steve opened his eyes, fully expecting the worst. He looked down at his best friend. Soda was laying perfectly still, a huge contrast to the unnatural jerking motions that had consumed him moments before. His head had fallen to one side limply and his eyes were closed. Steve felt cold.

"Is he…?" Steve choked out, unable to ask the question that had to be asked.

Wade was checking Soda's pulse. For several seconds everything was completely still. "He's still hanging on," Wade said, honest surprise in his voice. Steve gave a start at this. "Get your flashlight, I need to check his wound."

Steve fumbled around his pack for a minute and pulled out his small flashlight. He was careful as he flicked it on, blocking the light with his body on one side and cupping his hand around the opposite side, keeping the light as small as possible. Wade peeled back the bandages. Steve didn't want to, but he looked anyway. He somehow expected it to look a lot more gruesome than it did. The hole in his gut was red and filled with puss, but it seemed so small. Around the bullet wound Soda's skin was dark with bruises.

"He's bleeding out," Wade with quietly as he observed the bruising on Soda's side. "I'm sorry, Randle. He doesn't have much time left."

Steve stared down, focusing on Soda's face. This statement should have devastated him. But deep down he had known this was coming. And now that it was here he just felt empty and numb. He had failed. He would have to go back to Tulsa, Oaklahoma and sit in the Curtis' living room and explain to Darry and Pony how exactly Soda had died. How was that fair? But then again how was it fair to expect Soda to endure the pain of being dragged through the jungles of Vietnam for another day if was all going to be for nothing?

Steve leaned down closer to Soda, still clutching his hand. "It's okay, Sodapop," he whispered, his voice shaking with tears that would not come. "It's okay. You can let go. I'll make sure that Darry and Pony and Two-Bit knew how hard you fought trying to get back to them."

Steve felt Soda's hand give a small squeeze. Or perhaps he just imagined it. He looked up at the sky, unable to look at his fallen friend any longer. Damn this hurt. He could see the hints of morning, of the sun rising. They would be getting ready to leave soon.

Suddenly Steve sensed that something was wrong. There was no real noise, but there was something shifting through the other soldiers in the camp. The secondary lookouts were tensing and waking those who had been asleep – or as close to asleep as you ever got out here. Steve was very attune to these shifts in the group and he knew what that meant. It meant that someone had found something out there beyond the trees. And it was never anything good.

"Heads up, boys," Captain Miller murmured as he readied his gun. "Something's comin'."

Steve's rifle was already in his hands, the product of a lot of practice with the motion. It felt comfortable and natural in his hands. Wade was fumbling with his own gun. The medic had never been very good with his weapon. Everyone was shifting toward one side of the clearing. Steve started to move with them on instinct but then he froze. He looked down at Soda. His eyes were closed but he was still breathing. Steve couldn't abandon him while he was still alive. He settled back on his haunches next to Soda, prepared to protect him with his life if necessary.

The next few minutes were some of the most tense of Steve's entire life, the weight of the responsibility of protecting Soda from whatever was coming hanging heavily over him. They all waited, listening hard for an approaching threat. There was a rustling in the trees. Steve's trigger finger twitched as a figure approached through the trees. He caught himself just in time. It was one of their own guys. Steve sighed but didn't relax still waiting for the rush of an ambush. But the solider that had just appeared wasn't running and he didn't seem anxious at all. Instead he held up his gun defensively.

"Who's out there, Matthews?" Captain Miller asked.

"It's another American platoon," Matthews reported, sounding relieved by the development.

A murmur of surprise ran through the group as everyone lowered their weapons just a fraction. Trust was something they had all learned to lose the hard way. They didn't trust reports, even from their own guys, they only trusted their own senses. Seeing was believing out here. Which is why when Captain Miller went out into the trees to investigate the report he still held his gun at the ready.

Everyone was absolutely still as they waited. There was a long few minutes where everyone was silent as they waited, all guns still trained on the area where the captain had just disappeared. _Prepare for the worst, hope for the best,_ Steve thought dryly to himself, wondering vaguely where Turner was. He didn't let his focus waiver to look for him though.

As footsteps approached everyone tensed up. The captain reemerged and everyone could immediately see his relaxed posture and his gun held at his side instead of at the ready. Everyone immediately lowered their guns as others followed him through the trees, all very clearly American soldiers. As Steve really took them in he saw that they all looked worn and a bit ragged. Steve watched them carefully. Even though they were fellow American soldiers they still did not know them.

"Captain Sullivan's platoon has been out in the field for two weeks longer than planned," Captain Miller announced. "There are several enemy units camped between here and the closest base. They've been working their way around the outskirts of the enemy encampments. We're going to have to do the same thing, taking a less direct route back to base."

Steve felt his heart fall. A less direct route. Soda already wasn't going to make the direct route. Everything was against them. The situation was getting more hopeless by the minute. Steve didn't even know that was possible. But then as he looked around at the soldiers who just arrived something caught his eye. A tint of metal that wasn't from a gun. A radio strapped a young soldier's back.

In the next moment Steve was up on his feet, rushing forward unaware of anything else that was going on. "Cap," he called as he approached.

"Yeah, Randle," Captain Miller said, looking over at him.

"Captain," Steve practically gasped as he pointed to what he had seen. "They have a radio."

Captain Miller just looked at him uncomprehending for a moment and it took everything Steve had to keep from screaming at him. Then his eyes wandered to behind him, where a fallen soldier lay. Steve had to remind himself that the Captain had more things to worry about than just Soda, so the fact that the thought hadn't occurred to him immediately like it had to Steve shouldn't be a fault.

Captain Miller turned to one of the older soldiers from the platoon; assumedly it was Captain Sullivan. "We've got a soldier in critical condition. We pulled him out of an abandoned prison camp yesterday afternoon and he's not going to last much longer."

"He ain't gonna last another hour, let alone a more roundabout trek to base," Steve interjected, hoping to help convey the severity of the situation.

"We lost our radio about a week ago and we haven't been able to contact anyone for help," Captain Miller continued, not going on to explain that the guy in their platoon who had been in charge of the radio had burned to death after being caught too close to an explosion. Steve could still remember how he had screamed. They had pulled the radio off of his body after the fire had burned down, but they hadn't been able to get it working again. "Can you have your guy radio back to base? See if you can get an emergency med evac here?"

"Yes, of course," Captain Sullivan agreed immediately.

Steve felt his heart lift just slightly. Could their luck really be turning around? Could he really trust to hope right now? As Captain Sullivan returned to his soldiers Steve hurried back over to Soda. He was relieved to find that Wade was back at his side so that he hadn't been alone when Steve had rushed away.

"They're callin' back to base," Steve said. He was short of breath. He thought that was a little odd, it wasn't like he had really exerted himself running from one end of the camp to the other. "They're gonna see if they can evac him outta here."

"They better hurry," Wade said gravely. He had two fingers on Soda's neck, feeling for his pulse. "He's circling the drain."

"C'mon, hang in there, Soda," Steve begged quietly. "Hang in there. Just a little longer. We might be able to get you out of here. I know I told you that you could let go, but forget that for a minute. Hang on just a little longer. Please?" Soda made no indication that he had heard him. Steve picked up Soda's hand and squeezed it lightly but got nothing in return. Even his ragged breathing had slowed. His face was colorless and his chest had a strange yellow tint to it where it wasn't already darkly bruised. Soda was dying. That much was painfully obvious. "Please Soda," Steve whispered, not caring that he was being incredibly selfish right now. "Please don't make me go home without you."

"Randle!" Steve looked over to see Captain Miller walking over to him. "Get Curtis prepped. A bird will be here in fifteen to evac him out of here."

Steve felt his heart jump up into his throat. This was really happening. They were getting Soda out of here.

The next fifteen minutes passed agonizingly slowly. Finally they were moving Soda to another nearby clearing. It was a small group, just Steve and Turner supporting him and Wade and Captain Miller accompanying them. They fashioned a sort of stretcher out of a blanket in order to keep Soda as still as they could. Soda never once moaned in pain. This worried Steve even more though.

As they reached the clearing Wade checked his pulse again. "He's getting weaker," he reported. His eyes went to the sky, searching for the helicopter. "They better hurry the hell up!" There was tension in his voice. He wanted Soda to get through this. The fact that Steve wasn't the only one pulling for him right now meant the world to him.

Finally they heard the flurry of the helicopter's blade slicing through the air, buzzing in their direction. At the sound the Captain lit a smoke grenade, purple for medic evac, which he had gotten from the other platoon and tossed it to the middle of the clearing. The helicopter immediately raced toward the signal, low and fast. It landed and immediately several medics raced across the space to where the group was gathered.

"He's having another seizure!" Wade suddenly shouted. Steve looked back down at his friend to find that he was jerking violently, his muscles contracting at unnatural angles. The other medics ran up to them but Wade had already sprung into action. "His airway is blocked, we need to clear it."

As the medics all converged Steve was pushed backwards away from Soda. He felt numb and his eyes were wide as he saw one of the new medics pull a tube from his bag and start to work it down Soda's throat despite the convulsions. No, no this couldn't be happening. They were so close. The medics and the helicopter were here, how could they have come all this way and have so many lucky breaks just now to fail at the last second?

"We need to move him now, we can't be on the ground more than three minutes, base's orders," one of the new medics said quickly. "It's too dangerous out here to linger."

Suddenly they were moving Soda away from him, rushing him to the helicopter. He didn't know what was happening at first when he started moving forward. It took him a minute to figure out that Captain Miller was pushing him toward the helicopter.

"You go with him, Randle," Captain Miller yelled over the noise. "We'll meet up with you at the base in a few days."

Steve was a good solider. He didn't question orders. He did what he was told. The words had barely left the Captain's lips when Steve launched himself forward and up into the helicopter. A split second later it took off, leaving Captain Miller, Wade and Turner behind. Steve found himself looking out the still open door at them as they quickly shrunk and disappeared into the landscape. He hoped that they would all make it to base so that he could thank them for all that they had done. He felt guilty that he hadn't done that before takeoff, but everything had happened so quickly.

Steve was violently brought back to the present by the commotion in the helicopter. The seizure had apparently passed as he lay still again, though he looked far from okay. They had a tube down Soda's throat trying to drain fluid out of his lungs; they had taken his bandages off revealing that his bullet wound had started bleeding significantly again. One medic was quietly taking his pulse. Steve focused on this particular medic. He felt like the stillness of his task was comforting in some way. However the next words that came out of that medic's mouth as the helicopter raced through the sky over the jungles of Vietnam would haunt Steven Randle for years to come.

"No pulse."


	3. Kill the Messenger

_**Author's Note:**_ Alright, just a quick announcement! I don't know if any of you noticed, but last week I posted a little sneak peak of this chapter on my bio page. Since my updates haven't been as quick as they used to be, I was thinking a might do that from time to time while working on my chapters. The sneak peaks could be anything from chapter titles/songs, current word counts so you can see how each story is progressing, or maybe even snippets from my drafts. So while you wait for updates from me feel free to poke around my bio page and look for those sneak peaks if you are so inclined! :)

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**Chapter Three  
Kill the Messenger**

* * *

_Oh my God, this hurts like hell  
I had that dream again where  
I was lost for good in outer space  
Tell me, doctor, how to shake  
A waking nightmare that is only  
Worse when I am sleeping_

_Kill the messenger  
I swear it__'__s not me  
It__'__s just someone I used to know_

_(Kill the Messenger – Jack__'__s Mannequin) _

Steve felt horribly numb. He was having a hard time processing what was going on. After spending so many weeks out in the jungles of Vietnam it felt so strange to be sitting inside of a building staring down at a tiled floor with florescent lights overhead. It was one of the few American base camps that had a fairly legitimate hospital facility. It was at least an actual structure rather than a just a tent. Steve was still wearing his dirty uniform – though he had discarded the jacket since the air seemed really hot and close in here – and he had his gun lying casually across his legs with one hand resting lightly on top of it out of habit. He looked very out of place in this clean, white hallway. It felt like some kind of surreal dream.

When the medic had announced that Soda had no pulse in the helicopter Steve had felt like all his insides had just fallen out of his body. There wasn't any time to freeze up though. The medics had immediately recruited Steve to help them, pulling him to Soda's side and having him perform chest compressions while they all did other things to try and save him. Steve had been concentrating so intensely on his task that he hardly noticed what anyone else was doing. Several minutes later the medic took his pulse again.

"I got a pulse!" he had exclaimed. "It's weak but it's there."

Steve had sighed in relief as he had sat back, feeling shaky. "Soda, you're killin' me," he had mumbled tiredly, looking down at his unconscious friend. He felt like he had watched Soda almost die numerous times over the course of the past twenty-four hours. Somehow he kept on pulling through, though at this point Steve really couldn't tell if it was some kind of miracle or just more torture – for both him and for Soda.

The helicopter had landed a minute later and they immediately rushed Soda into the base on a stretcher. Steve had followed after them but after Soda had disappeared into the operating room the rest of the hospital staff hadn't seemed to know what to do with him. It wasn't like what passed as a hospital here at base had a formal waiting room of anything like that. Finally as his exhaustion got the of the better of him, Steve simply settled himself on the floor in the hallway just outside of the operating room, leaning heavily against the wall behind him.

So here he sat.

At first he had considered trying to find a phone that he could call back to the States on, just to be able to be doing something useful. But he quickly realized that even if he was lucky enough to find a functioning phone, it was likely that he would only get one phone call. And if he was going to be able to talk to Darry and Ponyboy then he wanted to have something more definitive to tell them other than Soda was in surgery.

So he just sat there.

He felt incredibly helpless. He wasn't used to sitting around doing nothing with no imminent threats to worry about and he was quickly realizing that he wasn't terribly fond of it. He would have much rather been doing something productive. Instead there was nothing for him to do but think about everything that had happened over the past day. And it had only been a day, even though it had felt like a lot longer than that. He could vividly picture how Soda had looked lying in that cage in the prison camp just yesterday. He had time to wonder how Soda had ended up there. He wondered how long he had been living there in those inhuman conditions. Clearly he was severely malnourished so he must have been there for a fairly significant amount of time. That thought made Steve feel sick to his stomach.

Steve was so lost in thought that he didn't even notice when the door to the operating room opened. Because of this, when the person who had come out of the room approached him he nearly jumped out of his skin as he automatically gripped his gun and snapped it in the direction of the perceived threat. This in turned startled the doctor who had approached him, causing him to jump backwards and hold up his hands defensively.

Steve slowly let out a breath and his lowered his gun. "Sorry," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"I didn't mean to scare you," the doctor said, looking at him unsurely. "You're the guy who came in with Private Curtis, aren't you?"

"Yes," Steve confirmed. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest all of a sudden. He felt like he should stand up to speak with the doctor but he was afraid his legs wouldn't hold him right now. Instead he simple looked up at him, feeling very childlike from where he sat on the floor. "Is he… okay?"

"We did everything we could for him," the doctor said evenly. It sounded like a very well-practiced line. "We managed to get him stabilized for the moment. We're hoping to keep him as stable as possible and get him on the next flight out of here. He needs more done than we can do for him here; we need to get him stateside as soon as possible."

Steve tried and failed to absorb this. His neck was getting sore from looking up so he slowly pulled himself to his feet, using the wall for stability. "What do you mean, he needs more than what you can do for him here?" he demanded. "This is a hospital, isn't it?" He couldn't help but remember what Wade had said when they first found him. _"He needs immediate medical care, more than what I can do for him out here." _It was frustrating that they had finally gotten him to a medical facility and they were still saying that his care was beyond them.

"We are really only equipped to do patch ups here," the doctor tried to explain. "Private Curtis will need major surgery. Our biggest concern right now is that his kidneys are failing and he may lose one or even both, in which case he'd need a transplant. Not to mention the number of other complications he could still have." Steve rubbed his forehead with his free hand, his other hand still absent-mindedly holding his rifle. He couldn't even begin to describe how overwhelmed he felt. When would this nightmare end? The doctor was watching him carefully. "One of the medics said that he was shot yesterday?"

Steve sighed, dropping his hand back down to his side. "Yeah," he confirmed, unable to comprehend why that mattered at this point. "As far as we can tell anyway."

"It's nothing short of a miracle that he lasted this long with a wound like that before getting here," the doctor said. "That kid has got a lot of fight in him to have made it this far."

At that Steve felt his heart lift slightly. It rang true to him. Soda was a fighter. "Can I see him?"

"For now we're not moving him," the doctor told him. "Our normal recovery room is full so he will stay in the operating room until we can find him a free bed. The nurses are cleaning up, but as soon as they're finished you can go in and sit with him."

Steve nodded. "Thank you." He had never felt more grateful toward the strangers around him in his life. He would not have been able to bring Soda this far without all the help he had received over the past twenty-four hours.

The doctor eyed him for a minute. "You might want to go wash up some first."

Steve looked down at himself. Several weeks worth of dirt, sweat and blood was caked into his clothes and his skin. He figured walking into a sterile operating room like this probably wouldn't be such a great idea. "Yeah, okay. Think you could tell me where I might find a clean uniform?" He had shredded his last clean shirt last night, soaking the strips in his water rations in order to try and control Soda's climbing fever out in the jungle.

The doctor had one of the nurses track down a clean uniform for him and Steve managed to find a hose system rigged up outside that he was able to clean up the rest of him as best he could without an actual shower and soap. Soap was definitely a luxury out here. Steve decided then and there that the very first thing he wanted to do when he got home was to take a hot shower.

By the time he found his way back to the hallway where he had camped out while Soda was in surgery he was allowed in to see his friend. Steve felt nervous, unsure what he should expect when he walked through that door. He took in a deep, steadying breath. Then he walked in.

Inside it didn't look quite as he had pictured it. It was overall a lot simpler than he had thought it would be. It was a small room with the same tiled floor and white walls that were in the hallway. There was a small window in one wall, but the blinds were tightly drawn. There was a counter along one side of the room that stored all the medical equipment. In the middle of the room was a metal gurney with a large light hanging over it. Lying on the gurney was is best friend, unnervingly still.

There was still a nurse in the room hovering over Soda. She looked up as Steve hesitated in the doorway.

"Who are you?" she asked quizzically.

"Uh..." Steve murmured, his mind hardly able to form a coherent thought. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. "Steve. Um, Private Randle." He wasn't real sure how he was supposed to refer to himself around the hospital staff here at base. All this was out of his element. "I'm a friend of Private Curtis." He nodded toward where Soda lay.

"Oh okay." The nurse accepted this explanation surprisingly easily considering this must have been a somewhat odd circumstance. There was an awkward pause. "You can come over here if you want," the nurse finally prompted him, indicating Soda's bedside.

Steve nodded. He started forward but then he noticed the uneasy look the nurse shot toward his hand. He looked down and realized he was still carrying his rifle around even though he had left his pack out in the hallway. His gun had become basically a fifth limb to him, he hadn't even thought twice about carrying it with him. He quickly realized that the hospital staff probably weren't used to random armed guys wandering around. Steve walked back over to the door and carefully leaned his rifle up against the frame of the door and the wall. It went against all his instincts to have his weapon out of reach even though he was keenly aware that he was safely in the middle of an American military base. It was at that moment that it really hit him how much this war was really changing him. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about it either so he just tried to put it out of his head for now.

He approached the gurney and finally got a good look at Soda. He was lying limply with his head falling to one side, his eyes closed. There was an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, an IV in his arm dripping clear liquid into his veins and a heart monitor hooked up to his chest which was beeping slowly. He was pale and had a bandage around his head and a thick bandage around his midsection. His lower half was covered by a thin, white sheet and there was a tube trailing out from under the sheet that Steve quickly decided he didn't want to investigate too closely.

"I'll give you two some privacy," the nurse told him gently. "There will be someone out in the hallway, just yell if there are any problems. He should be waking from the anesthesia very soon." She hesitated. "If you want to try and ask him about what happened to him… if there's anything else we should be looking for… he might have an easier time talking to a friend rather than a stranger considering what he's been through."

"Yeah, okay," Steve agreed, though he wasn't thrilled by the task.

The nurse nodded before she headed out of the room, leaving the door open behind her.

Steve glanced around the room for a moment and quickly located a stool. He pulled it over so that he could sit right next to the gurney. He reached out and carefully took Soda's hand. It was cold. He gave it a light squeeze but there was no response. He felt anxious as he looked at Soda's still form. Even though he was told that he was stable and the heart monitor was still beeping slow but steady, Steve still wanted more evidence that he was going to be okay before he allowed himself to hope.

As the minutes dragged by Steve had let his attention wander, distracted by noises from outside of the window on the other side of the room. His heightened awareness of even the smallest sounds coming from the soldiers moving around outside was extremely apparent at this moment. He was constantly looking for signs of trouble even though he knew there would be none. Is this really what his life had come to?

He felt Soda's hand tighten around his and he quickly snapped his gaze back to his friend, immediately assuming that something was wrong. But as he looked at him he found that he looked exactly the same as he did before.

"Soda?" Steve said quietly. Soda noticeably shifted his head a fraction, almost as if he tried to lift it but found that he didn't have the strength. "Soda? Are you with me, buddy?" Soda's thin fingers wound more deliberately around Steve's hand and he felt his heart lift at this. "C'mon, Soda, time to wake up." At this Soda's eyes fluttered as his head shifted. It took a few more minutes of coaxing but finally Soda's eyes opened and he was looking blearily around the room. His features tensed as he looked around and there was a sense of panic in his gaze. Even the heart monitor seemed to palpitate. "Hey, it's okay, Soda," Steve tried to assure him, leaning over him in an attempt to make himself more visible. "It's okay, you're okay now. You're safe. You're in the hospital. Just take it easy, okay?"

At that Soda's gaze shifted and finally rested on him. He looked a little confused as he looked at him. He opened his mouth as if to speak but nothing came out. He closed his mouth and swallowed, wincing slightly as he did so, before he tried again.

"Where…" he murmured, unable to finish his question.

"You're in a hospital," Steve repeated, a little disheartened that Soda hadn't comprehended the first time he had said it. But Soda shook his head slightly, not looking satisfied by the answer. Steve thought about it for a moment and then it finally clicked. "We're still in Vietnam," he told him, seeing immediately that this was the answer that Soda had been looking for. "They're lookin' to ship you back to the States as soon as possible though. Soda… you're goin' home." He couldn't help but grin as he said this. It was really hitting him for the first time. Soda was going home.

At this Steve could see the corners of Soda's mouth twitch up under his oxygen mask and he felt a light squeeze on his hand. He understood what this meant. It was the first sign of happiness Steve had seen from him since they had found him in that prison camp. It was probably the first bit of happiness Soda had felt since he had been captured. And that brought up a question that Steve knew needed to be asked, though he wasn't sure he really wanted to know the answer.

But before he could ask, Soda gathered his energy and spoke again. "Pony… Darry…" he murmured, looking up at Steve with question in his eyes.

"I'm not sure what they know," Steve told him. "But I'm gonna try and get a hold of a phone later so I can call them and let them know what's goin' on." Soda nodded lightly. Steve took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what he was about to learn. "Soda… how long were you in that prison camp?"

At this Soda's eyes clouded over. He shook his head slightly. "I dunno," he murmured, his voice scratchy and broken.

"Do you remember when you were captured?" Steve pushed carefully.

Soda squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as if in physical pain and when he opened them again they looked haunted. "Sep—" The word was quickly choked off and Soda squeezed Steve's hand. Was he really in physical pain? He gasped in a breath. "September. Beginning of September." His words came out raspy and weak.

Steve felt his stomach fall as he did the math. It was late January now, though he realized he didn't even know the exact date off the top of his head. Soda was looking up at him expectantly. "Almost five months," Steve told him quietly.

Soda sucked in a pained breath at this realization. Clearly it was much longer than he thought it had been. Steve had never imagined it had been that long either, though the evidence had been pretty clear that Soda's imprisonment had been relatively lengthy. They had both been drafted last March and had only gone through about two months of basic training before they had been shipped overseas. This meant that if Soda had been a prisoner for the past five months then he had only spent about four months over here fighting. He had spent the majority of his draft time in captivity. This realization was horrifying.

Steve didn't have any comforting words for Soda and he had lost any will to question him any further about what had happened so instead he just sat there and held his hand, letting him know that he wasn't alone anymore. Eventually Soda drifted into unconsciousness again, but Steve still didn't dare move.

It wasn't long after Soda had passed out again when the doctor and a few nurses entered the room. Steve looked up at them wearily. He felt fiercely protective over Soda right now, and even though he knew these people were here to help him it was still hard for Steve to let go of the feeling that he had to shield him from any more pain.

"We managed to find Private Curtis a bed in the recovery room," the doctor told Steve as the nurses went about getting Soda ready for transport. He was completely out again and didn't so much as twitch as they worked around him. "We're going to move him and get him settled, then you can sit with him again if you'd like."

Steve nodded. As much as he didn't want Soda out of his sight right now, he knew that he had to let the hospital staff do their jobs. In any case, Steve had a different task on his mind right now.

"What're the chances that you could tell me where I could find a workin' phone around here?" Steve asked.

"There's a phone for soldiers over by the mess hall," the doctor told him. "You need a pass to use it though and it's usually backed up a couple days." Steve stifled the urge to swear at this since the nurses were still in the room getting Soda ready to move. The doctor looked at him carefully, his gaze wandering over to Soda and then focusing back on him. "Were you thinking about calling his family?"

Steve nodded. "He's got two brothers back home that he's ridiculously close with. If they were told he was missing in action months ago… it's gotta be tearin' them apart."

"Well, the military will let them know that he's been found," the doctor said slowly. "Although it can take several days or even weeks to work through the bureaucracy…" He let the thought trail for a moment. "I'll tell you what. If you promise not to tell any of my superiors I think I could get you on to the phone here."

"It would really mean a lot to me if you could," Steve said, practically pleading with him. He glanced over at Soda. "It would mean a lot to him too. I know he's really worried about his brothers."

The doctor nodded, seeming to make up his mind at that moment. "Wait for me here in this hallway," he told him steadily. "I'll see what I can do."

Steve nodded as the doctor turned and left. He turned back to the Soda. The nurses seemed to have all his equipment ready to move. Steve moved closer to him. "I'll come back and see you after you're all settled, okay buddy?" Soda gave no response. He felt a little guilty for leaving him, but he knew that Soda would want him to let Darry and Pony know what was going on.

They wheeled Soda out into the hallway and Steve followed, instinctually grabbing his gun on the way out. But as they took Soda down the hallway Steve stopped, knowing he couldn't follow. He had his own responsibilities to attend to. He watched as they wheeled him around the corner and out of sight. It was hard not to have Soda right here next to him. It was hard not being the one watching over him.

Steve paced around the hallway as he waited, unable to sit still. He was filled with nervous energy. Even if he did get a hold of a phone how could he possibly explain what had happened to Darry or Ponyboy? That thought hit him hard. So much so that when the doctor came back and ushered him down the hallway he felt like he was in a fog. He followed numbly; hardly aware of where they were going. Suddenly they were in a small room set up like an office.

"You get fifteen minutes," the doctor said. When Steve glared at this he shrugged. "That's not my rule. That's just how the phone lines work out here. No one gets unlimited access."

"Yeah, okay," Steve agreed. It wasn't ideal but he would take what he could get.

The doctor left the room, granting Steve some privacy. Steve took a deep breath. No time for second-guessing or even figuring out what he was going to say. He would just have to wing it. He picked up the phone and was connected with the operator. He gave her the Curtis' number and waited as he was connected.

Steve impatiently listened to the phone ring. Minutes passed with no answer. With each ring he felt his hope falling. He looked up at a clock hanging on the wall. It was well into the afternoon at this point. He suddenly realized that he had no idea what the time difference was between Vietnam and Oklahoma. He had known when he was shipped out here, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. It wasn't information he needed on a day-to-day basis so it hadn't stuck. How late was it back home? What if no one answered and this was the only chance he got? The thought that either no one would be home or everyone would be dead asleep had never crossed his mind until this moment.

Suddenly there was a click on the other end and Steve straightened up as he gripped the receiver so tightly he thought it might snap in half.

"Hello?" Darry's voice floated through the line. His tone was mumbled and heavy with sleep, clearly he had been fast asleep just a minute ago. It must be pretty late at night there.

"Darry?" Steve choked out. Steve was not an emotional person by any means. But at the sound of Darry's voice he felt like he could very well start bawling right then and there.

There were several beats of stunned silence. "Steve?" Darry said in shocked disbelief. He sounded wide-awake now.

Steve let out a nervous laugh. "Jesus, Darry, you have no idea how good it is to hear from you." The relief was instant. Darry had been a big brother not only to Pony and Soda but the entire gang. There was that familiar feeling of safety in a big brother. Even Steve felt that.

"Steve, w-what… where are you?" Darry stuttered, still seemingly in shock from the sudden phone call.

Steve chucked. "Vegas," he joked. It felt good to tease Darry again. It felt almost normal. "Where d'you think I am? I'm in 'Nam!"

"Yeah," Darry realized. "Yeah, of course. Sorry. It's just… I didn't expect to hear from you like this." There was something off in his voice.

Steve took a deep breath. He didn't have much time; he had to get down to business. But he wasn't really sure how he was supposed to breech the subject. It certainly wasn't going to be easy to tell Darry about what had happened.

"Darry… have you heard anythin' about Soda?" Steve asked carefully. There was complete silence on the other end, to the point where Steve had to wonder if they got disconnected. "Darry?"

He heard Darry take a shuttering breath on the other end, almost like he was fighting for composure. That was something that Steve never would have expected from the oldest Curtis brother. "Yeah. Yeah we have." He paused. Steve waited. He didn't want to give up any information until he heard exactly what Darry already knew. "Steve, I'm sorry to have to tell you this like this. We… we got a letter. I guess… I guess he went missing in action." There was an indescribable amount of pain in his voice as he tried to explain the situation.

"Yeah… I heard that too," Steve said slowly.

There must have been something in his voice that Darry picked up on. "Do… do you know something?" Darry asked cautiously, almost suspiciously.

Steve ran a hand through his hair. How was he supposed to say this? He figured it was best to just blurt it out and then just go from there. "Yeah, I kinda…" He took a deep breath, still struggling to find the right words. He had never been very good at this kind of thing. Finally he just decided to spit it out. "He's not missing anymore. I found him. I found Soda, Darry."

Dead silence. Steve gave Darry a minute to let this new information sink in. "What!" It came out as a half shout. "Steve, what are you talking about?"

"I found him, Darry," Steve repeated.

"Yeah, but _how_?" Darry practically demanded.

"He was…" Steve swallowed. Here's where it got difficult. "He was in a prison camp. My unit found the camp and… there was Soda." He couldn't go into any more detail than that, not right now. But he could at least give Darry the basics.

"So… so is he…" Darry started unsurely, his tone practically begging for good news.

"He's still alive," Steve told him slowly. "But… Darry, he's in bad shape."

Darry inhaled sharply. "How bad is it?"

Steve sighed. He wished he had better news to share. But he didn't. This was the reality of the situation. "I won't lie. It's bad. He had surgery here but he's gonna need more surgery. They're gonna try and stabilize him and ship him back to the States as soon as possible." There was more silence on the other end. "I know this is a lot to take in. I'm sorry, Darry."

"No, don't be sorry," Darry assured him, but his voice shook. "Thanks for calling like this."

"Yeah, of course, Darry," Steve said. "You'll probably be getting a call from the military about when Soda will actually be shipped home. I just wanted to tell you what I could myself."

"Thanks Steve," Darry said tiredly.

Suddenly another voice cut in. It was the operator. "One minute remaining."

"Shit," Steve spat. The time was too short.

"You take care of yourself out there, Steve," Darry said quickly. "And thank you. Thank you for finding Soda." His voice cracked just saying his brother's name. Steve couldn't even imagine how crushed him and Pony had been the past five months knowing that their brother was missing in action in the middle of Vietnam. It had to have been hell.

"Of course, Darry," Steve said, feeling awkward being thanked for something like that. "I just wish I coulda done more for him."

"Tell him that we're gonna be here for him when he gets home," Darry told him.

"Yeah, I will," Steve said. He was about to go on but he heard a sudden click and then the line went dead. He sighed as he slowly hung up the phone. He felt emotionally drained. That had been a lot more difficult than he had thought it would.

"Did you get a hold of them?"

Steve spun around in surprise. He had almost forgotten anyone else existed. The doctor had returned to the room, looking at him with concern. Steve wondered how he looked to him.

"Yeah, I did," Steve told him. "Thank you."

"It was good of you to do that for him," the doctor told him. "After what he's been through now you can go give him some good news."

Steve smiled lightly at that. "Yeah, you're right."

"He's awake again and he was asking for you," the doctor told him. "Follow me."

Steve was right on the doctor's heels as he led the way to the recovery room. To say it was crowded would be a severe understatement. Cots lined the walls with soldiers in all kinds of conditions. Some were sitting up looking fairly coherent while others lay unconscious. A few that had minor injuries didn't even have cots and simply sat in chairs scattered around the room.

Steve was led to the far side of the room where Soda was laying in a cot that was wedged in between the wall and another cot. Soda's eyes were open and he was looking distressed. There was a soldier sitting in a chair at the end of the cot, his head bandaged. Steve would later learn that this solider had given up his cot for Soda.

Steve carefully worked his way in between the cots so that he could perch precariously on the edge of Soda's cot. "Hey buddy."

Soda's eyes wandered in his direction. There was relief in his features as he recognized him. "Hey," he murmured tiredly.

"Hey, so I just got off the phone with Darry," Steve told him.

"What?" That definitely got Soda's attention. In a burst of energy he almost sat up but then winced and groaned loudly as he fell back onto the pillow. It happened so quickly that Steve didn't have much of a chance to react until after the fact.

Steve put a gentle hand on Soda's shoulder to keep him down as he looked anxiously at the heart monitor next to the bed, noticing how it had sped up and began to beep irregularly. "Hey, take it easy," he said worriedly. He realized he probably shouldn't have sprung that information on him like that.

"What'd he say?" Soda asked, ignoring Steve's worry. Emotion was overwhelming him at just the thought of his older brother, the evidence clear as tears shined in his eyes.

"Him and Pony are gonna be waitin' for you when you get home," Steve assured him with a smile. "They're real happy you'll be comin' back and can't wait to see you."

At this Steve could just see the hint of a smile play at Soda's lips. Finally some good news to share. Steve could feel a weight lifting off of his shoulders. Finally something was going right. Soda seemed to relax upon hearing this news, his eyes fluttering again. He wasn't staying conscious very long Steve noticed. He had to remind himself that Soda wasn't really out of the woods just yet.

"I can't wait until we're back home," Soda mumbled as he drifted off.

Steve took Soda's hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Yeah. Me too."

* * *

The next few days were far from dull. Soda's fever spiked again, sending him back in to a delirious state. At one point he panicked, apparently forgetting that he had been rescued, and tore his stitches in an attempt to escape a prison he was no longer in. It had been a horrific scene that had shook Steve down to his core. Steve stayed at Soda's bedside as much as humanly possible, even though Soda didn't seem very aware of him most of the time.

Two days after they had arrived at base, Steve's unit finally made it. Steve was relieved to find that there had been no more casualties since he had left them. He suddenly felt a little guilty for abandoning them like he had. Wade had been practically ecstatic when he found that Soda had made it this far and had fussed over him despite the fact that the hospital staff had him relatively stabilized.

Another two days had passed when the staff decided that they needed to send Soda back to the States even if he wasn't where they were hoping to have him yet. Steve didn't understand all the medical talk, but it seemed that they were at their wit's end for what they could do for him here. They had to send him on if he wanted to have a chance to really recover.

Given all that, now Steve was standing outside next to Soda's stretcher. They were waiting on a helicopter that would transport him to an allied airport in Japan in order to be shipped home.

Soda's fever had finally broken the night before and he was awake and aware of what was going on. Steve felt relieved for this. It was going to make everything much less complicated. They waited in mostly silence. Soda was blinking against the bright sunlight. He still had a sheen of sweat on his forehead from the light fever he was still running.

"What's takin' so long?" Soda mumbled, closing his eyes. "It's too bright out here."

Steve shifted, attempting to block some of the sunlight with his shadow but it wasn't helpful, the sun was too high up in the sky. "They should be here any minute," he tried to assure him. They were running late so he really had no idea when they would get there.

Soda opened his eyes and looked up at him blearily. Despite the fact that Soda was still in pretty serious condition and was still in a lot of pain he had seemed much lighter all morning. "I can't wait to be outta here," he said.

"I know, buddy," Steve said with a smile, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You're gonna have to tell Darry, Pony and Two-Bit hi for me, okay?"

At this Soda shot him a confused look that Steve couldn't really understand. "What?" Soda asked.

"When you get home," Steve tried to clarify, not really sure where Soda had gotten confused. "You'll have to tell Darry, Pony and Two-Bit that I said hi."

"But…" Soda said worriedly. He paused as he tried to organize his thoughts. "You're not comin'?"

Steve sucked in a breath at this. He had hardly left Soda's side over the course of the past couple days, it hadn't occurred to him that Soda might think that he was going to continue to stay with him. And as much as Steve wanted to, he knew that was completely impossible.

Steve sighed as he crouched down next to the stretcher, Soda studying him carefully. "No, I'm not," he said gently. "I gotta stay here, buddy. I got a couple more months left here before I can go home."

Soda looked seriously distressed at this news. "You're stayin'?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I am," he said sadly. "But just a for a few more months. I'll be back home before you know it. I promise."

At that moment the noise of an approaching helicopter cut through the air. Steve looked up and after a moment he spotted the bird screaming toward them. Their time was up. He felt slightly sick. With everything else that had been going on he hadn't really considered how difficult it would be to surrender Soda to strangers like this. There was anxiety in Soda eyes as he looked from the helicopter back to Steve. He seemed to be realizing for the first time that Steve would not be making this trip with him.

Steve moved closer. "It's gonna be okay, Soda. They're gonna send you back to Tulsa and then Darry, Pony and Two-Bit will all be there for you."

"You gotta be careful," Soda rasped.

"I will," Steve promised. "I'll be home in no time, you'll see."

The helicopter had landed about fifty yards away. A crew was disembarking and hurrying over to where their group stood. A couple other soldiers with injuries were being shipped out as well, though Soda was in the worst shape so he would be loaded last.

Steve reached out and took Soda's hand, giving in a light squeeze. "You gotta be strong," he said. He was nervous, he knew that the doctors were nervous about him traveling but there wasn't any more time that they could waste before getting him to a more legitimate hospital facility. "Keep fightin' okay?"

"You too," Soda said with a light smile.

Steve laughed lightly. "Yeah, I will." And that was it their time was up. The crew from the helicopter surrounded the stretcher ready to take Soda away. "I'll see you back home, okay buddy?"

Soda nodded lightly. "Stay safe, Steve."

And a moment later Soda was swept away. Steve stood up, stoically watching as Soda was loaded up into the helicopter. After a minute the helicopter took off again. He watched it rise up into the sky and then get smaller and smaller as it raced away from them. Finally it disappeared completely.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. Steve turned and found that Turner was at his side. He had been around a lot the past couple days.

"You okay?" Turner asked.

Steve sighed and shrugged. "I guess."

"You'll see him again soon," he assured him.

Steve was still staring off into the distance where the helicopter had disappeared. "Yeah. I sure hope so."


End file.
